Batter Up
by visceralfringe
Summary: He has no roots, but his home was never on the ground.


**New York City. 2015.**

Steve bumped up against the inside wall of the elevator and clumsily punched in his floor number.

 **The annual Veteran's Ball'n'Bar Crawl was well underway in Time Square.**

Steve's Oxford red wings framed a big pair of XPERs.

 **Their bench had been uprooted in Central Park's most recent renovation. It had taken Steve an extra anxious hour to find _him_.**

Steve knew he could pull that soft suede jacket apart like warm taffy. Could feel the metal cased frame scaffolding the firm flesh beneath his hands.

 **The first year, Steve had come to the VBC to find himself.**

He tasted maple whiskey. Smelled Old Spice and cigars. _Sweet Jesus._

 **The second year, Steve came to reminisce with the old timers about what they had lost.**

The elevator dinged and the door yawned open.

 **The third year…**

Steve Rogers reeled Logan Howlett into the hallway.

 **Steve had come to the VBC…**

Lips locked, they staggered and shuffled down the hall. Multitasking had gone from second nature to Mandarin Chinese. Steve had to initiate a careful list to the right so they wouldn't wake Patty's Maltese.

 **to…**

Logan's hair slid like cool steel between Steve's fingers. Logan grunted in their shared frustration to fish Steve's keys from his pocket and get his darned apartment open—not an easy task with nothing but each other in their direct line of sight.

 **To be fair, this was a sentimental time of year. A sentimental trip.**

A slip of Logan's fingers under the hem of Steve's plaid shirt was all it took to make Steve drop the keys. Logan knelt as quick as a chill fed a fever. But he took his time coming up, his hands mapping Steve's legs through his denims. Steve shivered.

 **To be fair, Logan had brought Steve a brand-new Vet's cap, bill bent like God intended.**

Logan stood a mere inch taller than Steve on a good day. But when Logan found his full height and passed a weighty gaze over him tonight, Steve felt incredibly small. Steve sealed his lips up tight to keep from panting. Kept his expression as solid as possible to mask his weakness. Locked his knees to congeal the jelly.

"You got some of the prettiest blue skies I ever did see."

Steve's soul rippled. Of all things, Logan chose to fixate on his eyes, the only feature of Steve unaffected by the serum. The only feature that still belonged to him. Steve let his eyes track over Logan's face where he saw that timeless mischief and bravado.

He had known that face long before the thaw and long before the freeze.

 **To be fair, Steve had brought Logan his favorite whiskey in a collectible flask.**

"You forget how to use your words, pal?" Logan cracked that wolfish grin.

 _Verily._ And that sobered Steve enough to regain some of his senses.

Steve swallowed hard as Logan slipped his arm around his waist. Foggy headed, Steve tried to scrape together something pithy, but the sound of the lock turning over shut him up. He stared at Logan's lips.

 **To be fair, they had caught up over coffee at their corner café for forty-three minutes.**

"Seeing you speechless. Now that's definitely worth a medal."

"Known a couple guys in my day who talked a good game, but fudged up when called to bat."

"I hate baseball."

Steve withered a little, skirting Logan's gaze to hide it.

"Kidding, bub. Mark my words, I never strike out."

"Take a lot of swings?" Steve asked.

"Only with those that matter, Ump. For you, I'd chance the World Championship."

"Is this just about a homerun?"

Logan tilted his head and weighed his shrug. "I'll be real sore about not making third base tonight. At least."

" _At least_ you're honest."

Steve gave him a wry smile. Leaning in, Logan pressed his brow to Steve's forehead.

"It's about a home, Steve. I'd only run if you asked."

Slowly, Steve nodded and started to drop walls like he had dropped the keys.

"I think I know a good route."

Logan opened the door and deftly backed Steve into his entry.

"Show me."

And something about the heat and husk in Logan's voice kicked fire into Steve's face. Steve nodded over his shoulder to the den.

Logan glanced at the sofa. He smirked.

"How long you gonna make me wait for the big leagues?"

 _Bedroom._ "A couple innings."

"hm. I think I can hunker down that long." Logan grinned.

"Good." Steve smiled back and met him in another kiss.

 **To be fair, Steve had been fantasizing about this for seventy-eight years.**


End file.
